


Don't You Remember Me?

by havenotlove



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havenotlove/pseuds/havenotlove
Summary: When the Blight begins to ease from the land and the unrest begins to settle at last, there is one question that lingers in the back of Laven’s mind. Amidst the accolades and allegiances offered to him, there is one answer he still seeks.





	

When the Blight begins to ease from the land and the unrest begins to settle at last, there is one question that lingers in the back of Laven’s mind. Amidst the accolades and allegiances offered to him, there is one answer he still seeks. Habit and routine carry him through the days, and in the evenings he calls favors, writes letters, utilizes every tool at his disposal.

A month passes, then a second, and a third—and finally the first piece of conclusive information reaches the commander’s desk: Jowan is alive. The news sits like a neglected waif in the corner of Laven’s mind. He hadn’t expected to be given this much. In the month that follows, he steels his resolve. “This is…unwise, amor,” Zevran murmurs in gentle warning, and Laven’s hold on him tightens. “Come with me, Zevran.”

For once, Laven is grateful for the weight his name now holds. Laven Surana—Hero of the Fifth Blight and Warden-Commander of Amaranthine—wishes to meet with one of the Tranquil servants. Who would deny him that? He forces a weak smile, gives a tentative greeting, and his voice is thick with hard restraint. He tries to keep his eyes from wandering to the small, red sunburst above his brow. “Don’t you remember me, Jowan?” The defensive laughter in his question nearly chokes him.

When Jowan looks up at him, Laven sees nothing else. Oh, he’d forgotten how much he loves those eyes, always so emotive and endearing, so often turned to him in kindness and understanding.

“Of course I remember you. You are Laven Surana, the maleficar who was complicit in my escape.”

It takes Laven a minute to realize that he is fine—that the steel he feels piercing through his chest is not real.

“N…No, Jowan, that’s not right.” He laughs wryly because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I was your best friend. We were… We had something meaningful.”

“Our involvement was illicit. It was an affront to the Maker and should not have persisted as long as it did.”

Laven clasps a hand over his mouth and hunches forward, swallowing back vomit. He feels Zevran’s hands on his arm and on his back, hears him mutter something gentle as he tries to lead him from the room.

He thinks to himself that death would have been a mercy.


End file.
